Post by Crissatha Pandora on Mar 4, 2012 2:25:21 GMT -5
Cris was going to kill whoever had chained her to Justin Flyte.
She did not want to be anywhere near him. She wanted him to be as far away from her as was humanly possible. He had tossed her into a wall, he had scarred her shoulder, he had fucked her over in every possible way if she asked her. And it wasn’t just the physical pain that had done it, no of course not. That wasn’t even the first half of it. That wasn’t what was really hurting her.
What hurt her was that she loved him. That she had admitted she loved him. That it was the first time she had loved anyone. And he had tossed it all in her face. And she didn’t even know why. She knew he had caught her having to deal with that asshole in the suit for her mother, she had heard that one through the grapevine. And she knew that she had disappeared to her mother’s without saying one word about it, but all the same she didn’t think that was enough for the reaction that she had gotten out of him when she had gone to find him that day.
He had acted like she had done something far worse than she had, and to her knowledge she had done nothing that horrible. Nothing bad enough to be called a whore or some such shit. She really hated being called that stupid word. Especially after the reason she had died was because she had refused to sleep with her boyfriend when he wanted it and he had gotten a little too forceful about it. It just seemed so backwards to then be called a whore. She had resented that and it had stuck in her brain.
It was probably what had caused her to go crazy and then sleep with a bunch of boys for her own amusement. And her boys had been pretty damn happy that she was now unattached and able to mess around again, so that said something to her skill, didn’t it? She thought so. It meant she was wanted in some way at least, even if it did make her feel like a whore just like he had called her. It was also why she had woken up in a pair of boy’s pants that were held up only by a belt because they were way too big and baggy. She wondered for a moment where her own pants had gone, but she figured that she had just managed to take someone else’s pants when she was leaving from a romp, rather than her own. She would get them back.
Eventually.
The tank top and shirt that proclaimed fuck you, however, was her own. And she had happily meant it to apply to the boy she was handcuffed to multiple times. She was not entirely sure how her right wrist had become attached to his left one, she had woken up that way. And being that reds tended to sleep like the dead, it could have been anyone and she wouldn’t have even noticed it happening. Which was probably how it had been achieved. She had fallen asleep in the boy’s dorm after all because it was getting too light out to make the trek over to the girl’s dorm before she would chance getting burnt up in the sun.
She had woken up chained to him. And being that she always slept in, he was up first. He was just looking at her too, and he was—frustratingly enough—out of her arm’s reach. Because fuck yes she woke up swinging. Wouldn’t you if you woke up and couldn’t move one of your arms? She had woken up to find one arm being tied down to something and it had made her freak out enough to start hitting out at whatever was closest. And when she actually bothered to be awake enough to notice what was going on, she noticed one arm handcuffed, and following the arm to see the face just sorta watching her. Which creeped her out.
So she did the most rational thing she could think of.
She had acted all calm, like she was still groggy and waking up. And had used that moment to shove him.
But that had been that twilight. And for the rest of the night. Which fucking sucked. And it had stayed sucking because the two of them couldn’t get along, they weren’t supposed to anymore if you asked her and she refused to ever get along with him. She kept shoving and hitting him whenever she got a chance and his lack of respondense was pissing her off. And she remembered telling him at one point that he wasn’t the worst boyfriend she had ever had. There had been Oliver. Who had killed her. She shuddered at that memory and kept going.
But like she said, that had been that night.
She woke up, this time, groggy and entirely unsure where she was. Which was different then the twilight before. This time it didn’t feel like she had actually fallen asleep. No, this time was weird. And it was worse. Everything seemed blurry. She felt like her head was made of concrete or something, it just felt so heavy, and her eyelids felt worse, she didn’t even bother to try and lift them. She just kind of kept herself where she was and tried to focus on where exactly where she was…was. She shook her head and groaned softly because it hurt just a little, felt like it had cotton stuffed in the concrete.
She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she figured that she must have. But all the same, she was pretty positive that she wasn’t wherever she had fallen asleep. Why? Because she wasn’t lying down. She was pretty sure she was vertical.
And once she started thinking about this it all started to connect a bit, and she started to actually try and figure out what was going on. It felt like it was taking too long. Like her system wasn’t responding as fast as it should to her and she had no idea why that was. Her violet bangs were in her face, but when she went to move her hand to brush them out of her eyes, they didn’t respond. Which seemed odd until she felt the heavy restraints on not just her right wrist, but also her left as well. She had gotten so used to the handcuff, she hadn’t noticed that anything was out of the ordinary. But she really shouldn’t have both wrists bound.
Over her head.
And her feet weren’t touching anything.
She was floating. Or something. No…no that didn’t make sense. She needed to focus, she needed to push herself to focus but that seemed so hard. Her eyes still seemed like they had weights on them but she pushed, hard, and got her ice blue eyes open, even if they still felt more than a little bit hazy on the details. It took her a moment to focus that too, but eventually she got her heavy head tilted up in order to notice that her hands were bound above her head to a pipe that ran above her, and that was what was keeping her floating, without actually floating.
She looked around the room she was in. It wasn’t too small, not small enough to set off her claustrophobia at least which was a small relief. It was dark here, there were no windows which was also good because she wasn’t sure what time it was. There were various things in the shadow she couldn’t make out which was odd because being a red, she had more then steller night vision and could see anything in the shadows. It was dark, which was nice but not because her vision was blurry. She couldn’t make out anything. There seemed to be things hanging all around her but she couldn’t make out what they were at all.
But once her sense of sight was up and running, her sense of smell decided to join the party. The smell of blood was in the air. She winced at the automatic ache that produced in the back of her throat and tried not to panic about the fact that wherever she was, because she still wasn’t sure, there was blood in the air. What the fuck was going on here?
And a moment after that, her hazy brain caught up with what was going on. She had been drugged. That was the only explanation for all of this. She had been drugged. What the fuck was going on here? Why was she here? She felt so weak, but all the same, she tried to make her fingers respond long enough to work at the restraints on her wrists. It didn’t work, mostly because her fingers felt like everything was too slippery and strong for her, weird being a black fledgling. She needed to focus. She needed out of her.
She didn’t like not being able to feel the floor. The cold wind that rushed through this place made her shiver a little. Not because it was cold, because it took more than that to make a red fledgling cold when they were technically dead, but because of what that meant. That meant that her legs were bare if she was able to feel that, and she was certain she had had pants on the last time she had been conscious. She was also missing her oversized tee shirt on further notice.
To recap: She was just in panties and the tank top she wore for a bra. She had been drugged. She was bound. And there was blood in the air.
How fucking wonderful was that.
But things could only get worse, right? Her inspection led her to what had once been one of the shapes in the shadows, but even her poor eyesight could make out what that was, he was close enough. It was Justin. She had a momentary panic because she did love him, and for a moment she forgot that they were fighting, that they had broken up, and all that mattered was that he was unconscious and bound next to her. She frowned. ”Justin” she whispered, urgently. And then the memories of wht had happened crashed on her, that she was supposed to be mad at him. Whatever. Did it matter? Mad or not, she still cared to be honest and it would be nice for him to wake up to help her out of here. And himself of course. But of course, she couldn’t pretend to care.
Years of gymnastics lessons had to be good for something. She started to swing herself from side to side until she was able to nudge him with her feet, which she did, twice. ”Wake the fuck up” she said in the urgent whisper again, pretending to be more angry than she was about this. She was scared, for both of them. But she was mad at him, so he wasn’t allowed to know that.
After two tries with that, she gave up, and decided to put her momentum elsewhere. Her purity affinity started to go to quick work at the poison in her that had made her so drowsy once she was aware enough of its presence to send her affinity after the drug in her system. She started to swing, until she could wrap her ankles around the pole that she was chained to above her head. A quick body hop had her knees around it, and then she swung once more until she was on top of the pole.
And now her face was mashed against it, and it was nasty.
But she felt more safe up here than down there. Up here she could see where the smell of blood was coming from. Bodies. There were bodies hanging around her. And they were dripping blood. Still. She stopped breathing for a moment. That would be her, wouldn’t it? She was next on this sick fuck’s chopping block, wasn’t she? She paled, looking around at them, and the blood in the air was causing the ache in her throat to get worse. But someone had chained them the same way she was, and she started to freak out more than a little bit.
But that was nothing compared to the reaction she had when she saw who had brought her hair.
She paled entirely, looking like a sheet, and tried not to freeze. Dammit. Oh goddess above no. Please no. Not him. Why him? He was supposed to be dead. She was scared as hell, too scared to actually do anything or say anything about what was going on. She just stayed where she was, and tried to figure out how to get out of this. As soon as possible.
Words: Holy shit. 2222
Muse: Epic.
Comments: Figured I'd get us started <3
She did not want to be anywhere near him. She wanted him to be as far away from her as was humanly possible. He had tossed her into a wall, he had scarred her shoulder, he had fucked her over in every possible way if she asked her. And it wasn’t just the physical pain that had done it, no of course not. That wasn’t even the first half of it. That wasn’t what was really hurting her.
What hurt her was that she loved him. That she had admitted she loved him. That it was the first time she had loved anyone. And he had tossed it all in her face. And she didn’t even know why. She knew he had caught her having to deal with that asshole in the suit for her mother, she had heard that one through the grapevine. And she knew that she had disappeared to her mother’s without saying one word about it, but all the same she didn’t think that was enough for the reaction that she had gotten out of him when she had gone to find him that day.
He had acted like she had done something far worse than she had, and to her knowledge she had done nothing that horrible. Nothing bad enough to be called a whore or some such shit. She really hated being called that stupid word. Especially after the reason she had died was because she had refused to sleep with her boyfriend when he wanted it and he had gotten a little too forceful about it. It just seemed so backwards to then be called a whore. She had resented that and it had stuck in her brain.
It was probably what had caused her to go crazy and then sleep with a bunch of boys for her own amusement. And her boys had been pretty damn happy that she was now unattached and able to mess around again, so that said something to her skill, didn’t it? She thought so. It meant she was wanted in some way at least, even if it did make her feel like a whore just like he had called her. It was also why she had woken up in a pair of boy’s pants that were held up only by a belt because they were way too big and baggy. She wondered for a moment where her own pants had gone, but she figured that she had just managed to take someone else’s pants when she was leaving from a romp, rather than her own. She would get them back.
Eventually.
The tank top and shirt that proclaimed fuck you, however, was her own. And she had happily meant it to apply to the boy she was handcuffed to multiple times. She was not entirely sure how her right wrist had become attached to his left one, she had woken up that way. And being that reds tended to sleep like the dead, it could have been anyone and she wouldn’t have even noticed it happening. Which was probably how it had been achieved. She had fallen asleep in the boy’s dorm after all because it was getting too light out to make the trek over to the girl’s dorm before she would chance getting burnt up in the sun.
She had woken up chained to him. And being that she always slept in, he was up first. He was just looking at her too, and he was—frustratingly enough—out of her arm’s reach. Because fuck yes she woke up swinging. Wouldn’t you if you woke up and couldn’t move one of your arms? She had woken up to find one arm being tied down to something and it had made her freak out enough to start hitting out at whatever was closest. And when she actually bothered to be awake enough to notice what was going on, she noticed one arm handcuffed, and following the arm to see the face just sorta watching her. Which creeped her out.
So she did the most rational thing she could think of.
She had acted all calm, like she was still groggy and waking up. And had used that moment to shove him.
But that had been that twilight. And for the rest of the night. Which fucking sucked. And it had stayed sucking because the two of them couldn’t get along, they weren’t supposed to anymore if you asked her and she refused to ever get along with him. She kept shoving and hitting him whenever she got a chance and his lack of respondense was pissing her off. And she remembered telling him at one point that he wasn’t the worst boyfriend she had ever had. There had been Oliver. Who had killed her. She shuddered at that memory and kept going.
But like she said, that had been that night.
She woke up, this time, groggy and entirely unsure where she was. Which was different then the twilight before. This time it didn’t feel like she had actually fallen asleep. No, this time was weird. And it was worse. Everything seemed blurry. She felt like her head was made of concrete or something, it just felt so heavy, and her eyelids felt worse, she didn’t even bother to try and lift them. She just kind of kept herself where she was and tried to focus on where exactly where she was…was. She shook her head and groaned softly because it hurt just a little, felt like it had cotton stuffed in the concrete.
She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she figured that she must have. But all the same, she was pretty positive that she wasn’t wherever she had fallen asleep. Why? Because she wasn’t lying down. She was pretty sure she was vertical.
And once she started thinking about this it all started to connect a bit, and she started to actually try and figure out what was going on. It felt like it was taking too long. Like her system wasn’t responding as fast as it should to her and she had no idea why that was. Her violet bangs were in her face, but when she went to move her hand to brush them out of her eyes, they didn’t respond. Which seemed odd until she felt the heavy restraints on not just her right wrist, but also her left as well. She had gotten so used to the handcuff, she hadn’t noticed that anything was out of the ordinary. But she really shouldn’t have both wrists bound.
Over her head.
And her feet weren’t touching anything.
She was floating. Or something. No…no that didn’t make sense. She needed to focus, she needed to push herself to focus but that seemed so hard. Her eyes still seemed like they had weights on them but she pushed, hard, and got her ice blue eyes open, even if they still felt more than a little bit hazy on the details. It took her a moment to focus that too, but eventually she got her heavy head tilted up in order to notice that her hands were bound above her head to a pipe that ran above her, and that was what was keeping her floating, without actually floating.
She looked around the room she was in. It wasn’t too small, not small enough to set off her claustrophobia at least which was a small relief. It was dark here, there were no windows which was also good because she wasn’t sure what time it was. There were various things in the shadow she couldn’t make out which was odd because being a red, she had more then steller night vision and could see anything in the shadows. It was dark, which was nice but not because her vision was blurry. She couldn’t make out anything. There seemed to be things hanging all around her but she couldn’t make out what they were at all.
But once her sense of sight was up and running, her sense of smell decided to join the party. The smell of blood was in the air. She winced at the automatic ache that produced in the back of her throat and tried not to panic about the fact that wherever she was, because she still wasn’t sure, there was blood in the air. What the fuck was going on here?
And a moment after that, her hazy brain caught up with what was going on. She had been drugged. That was the only explanation for all of this. She had been drugged. What the fuck was going on here? Why was she here? She felt so weak, but all the same, she tried to make her fingers respond long enough to work at the restraints on her wrists. It didn’t work, mostly because her fingers felt like everything was too slippery and strong for her, weird being a black fledgling. She needed to focus. She needed out of her.
She didn’t like not being able to feel the floor. The cold wind that rushed through this place made her shiver a little. Not because it was cold, because it took more than that to make a red fledgling cold when they were technically dead, but because of what that meant. That meant that her legs were bare if she was able to feel that, and she was certain she had had pants on the last time she had been conscious. She was also missing her oversized tee shirt on further notice.
To recap: She was just in panties and the tank top she wore for a bra. She had been drugged. She was bound. And there was blood in the air.
How fucking wonderful was that.
But things could only get worse, right? Her inspection led her to what had once been one of the shapes in the shadows, but even her poor eyesight could make out what that was, he was close enough. It was Justin. She had a momentary panic because she did love him, and for a moment she forgot that they were fighting, that they had broken up, and all that mattered was that he was unconscious and bound next to her. She frowned. ”Justin” she whispered, urgently. And then the memories of wht had happened crashed on her, that she was supposed to be mad at him. Whatever. Did it matter? Mad or not, she still cared to be honest and it would be nice for him to wake up to help her out of here. And himself of course. But of course, she couldn’t pretend to care.
Years of gymnastics lessons had to be good for something. She started to swing herself from side to side until she was able to nudge him with her feet, which she did, twice. ”Wake the fuck up” she said in the urgent whisper again, pretending to be more angry than she was about this. She was scared, for both of them. But she was mad at him, so he wasn’t allowed to know that.
After two tries with that, she gave up, and decided to put her momentum elsewhere. Her purity affinity started to go to quick work at the poison in her that had made her so drowsy once she was aware enough of its presence to send her affinity after the drug in her system. She started to swing, until she could wrap her ankles around the pole that she was chained to above her head. A quick body hop had her knees around it, and then she swung once more until she was on top of the pole.
And now her face was mashed against it, and it was nasty.
But she felt more safe up here than down there. Up here she could see where the smell of blood was coming from. Bodies. There were bodies hanging around her. And they were dripping blood. Still. She stopped breathing for a moment. That would be her, wouldn’t it? She was next on this sick fuck’s chopping block, wasn’t she? She paled, looking around at them, and the blood in the air was causing the ache in her throat to get worse. But someone had chained them the same way she was, and she started to freak out more than a little bit.
But that was nothing compared to the reaction she had when she saw who had brought her hair.
She paled entirely, looking like a sheet, and tried not to freeze. Dammit. Oh goddess above no. Please no. Not him. Why him? He was supposed to be dead. She was scared as hell, too scared to actually do anything or say anything about what was going on. She just stayed where she was, and tried to figure out how to get out of this. As soon as possible.
Words: Holy shit. 2222
Muse: Epic.
Comments: Figured I'd get us started <3
